Amnesia: The Infernal Machine
by LoboDiabloLoneWolf
Summary: The man eats the pig and the pig is eaten by the machine and the man is eaten by the machine, and both man and pig suckle from the machine.


**A/N:** If you ask me (which I'm aware you're probably not) writing horror literature these days is _really hard_, because this is a medium that lacks the atmospheric-building elements such as sound, music, and lighting that, I think, are vital to creating effective horror, but I'm going to try anyway. This is also the reason I've decided to use a nameless, faceless, genderless protagonist, which I'm hoping will make the character easier for you, the reader, to project onto and make the whole thing much scarier.

**Amnesia: A Machine for Pigs**

**The Infernal Machine**

I awake from a nightmare, and realise that the nightmare is real.

The cage is small, neither tall enough for me to sit upright, nor long enough that I may lay down full-length. The cold of the metal bites through my nightclothes and dressing gown and slippers, through my flesh, and into the marrow of my bones. Above me an electric lantern sheds a circle of dim light, beyond that it is too dark to see, but what I can hear makes my heart vibrate in my chest, my breath come hard, and my body shake with more than just cold.

I can hear the wailing and sobbing of others trapped in cages, captives like me, begging to be released. I can hear the clink of the lantern chain as it sways and the links knock together. I can hear the muted rumbling-grinding-roaring-clattering-hiss-of-escap ing-steam noise of some monstrous mechanism close by. And I can hear _them_, as they wander around in the dark – their heavy footfalls on the grimy tiles; the snorting grunts of their laboured breathing; the unearthly, twisted shrieks of the pig-men.

Someone is screaming. It is muffed at first, but then hinges rasp and a heavy metal door squeaks, and it is suddenly loud and clear. The pig-men screech and squeal in response to the disturbance, and I hear them lumbering through the darkness towards the source. The screaming becomes even louder and more horrified as this newest victim sees them for the first time. Not quite pigs and not quite men, but some grotesque amalgamation of both.

There is a thud as she is tossed to the abominations, and the sound of dragging as they take her to her cage. The screaming has become a whimper, and it gets louder and louder as the pig-men drag her past my cage. The lantern sputters overhead and her eyes shine in the sporadic shadows. For a moment our gazes meet, and then she is gone, swallowed by the darkness.

Only then do I see something glint in the weak light as the lantern steadies, and my hand reaches through the bars and snatches it up without thought. It is a crochet hook, the metal is cold on my palm, and the decorative end makes it look like a key.

A key…

Quietly I shuffle around until I face the door of my cage. I listen carefully. It is never quiet down here in the dark, but the screams of the pig-men are distant. I ease the crochet hook into the lock and listen as I slowly turn it. The lock clicks, and gradually, inch by inch so that I do not make any noise, I swing the door of my cage open. I pocket the crochet needle and crawl out. My legs are weak and they tremble as I stand, but I do not pause. I climb up onto one of the crates packed in beside the cages, and take the lantern down from its hook – it will light my way and its flickering will warn me when there are pig-men nearby.

But as I climb down, I hear it, the clunk of feet, the grunting and squealing, and the lantern flickers in my hand. I am frozen with terror, unable to move or think, as the creature lumbers around the corner and into the light of my lantern. In horror I watch it stand up on two legs and scream like a pig being slaughtered, and unthinkingly I run. I hear the pig-man pursuing me, and my heart thunders in my ears, my terror blinding me to everything but flight.

The tight, dark, twisting and turning paths between the cages and crates and dirty tiled walls and floor are as confusing as any maze, made worse by my own panic. I see a door ahead of me, and though I do not know where it leads – if it will take me to open sky and fresh air and freedom, or deeper into the belly of the mechanical beast – I do not know, but my fear is so great that I do not care, and I fling it open as soon as I reach it, darting through and slamming it close behind me, just as the pig-man crashes into it. I hear its awful shrieking, and the door rattles, but it holds fast. After only a few seconds, the pig-man leaves, still squealing, and I feel the sharp edge of my terror begin to dull, though it does not fade.

Turning away from the door, my lantern reveals a corridor of metal, pipes and girders and grating, receding into the blackness beyond my dim circle of light. Even with my pursuer gone I am too terrified to go back.

I can only go forward.

I make my way down the corridor, my heart skipping as each footstep on the metal grating rings out, and finally I reach a flight of stairs. They lead down. For a moment I hesitate, but the terror that lurks behind me is too great, and I begin my dark descent.

With each step the air becomes hotter, as though I am descending into hell itself, and the sound of machines grows ever-louder. Red light like hellfire glows at the bottom of the stairway and when I reach the last step, I can see nothing but more metal and moving machinery all bathed in the bloody light of the giant furnaces. Catwalks and walkways, platforms and daises, stairs that lead both up and down and all into darkness. I am in a labyrinth, but I am hunted not by the bull-man Minotaur of legend, but something horrifyingly real.

The lantern begins to flicker.

I scuttle behind a nearby pile of crates, turning the lantern off as I go, and cower like a terrified mouse in the red-hued dark. Through the gaps between the crates I see one of the pig-men, even more nightmarish in the red light, stumbling awkwardly through the darkness on mismatched legs. It passes by without noticing me, and I creep out of my hiding place and run for the nearest flight of stairs that lead upward.

The heavy metal door at the top of the steps squeaks as it opens onto another narrow corridor full of hissing pipes and upright support girders, and the air is thick with steam. Carefully I weave my way through the tight space, avoiding the scalding air vapour that spurts sporadically from the where the sections of pipe are bolted together. At the end of the corridor is a door that does not look like the others I have passed, and when I warily ease it open, I realise why – the entrance is disguised to look like part of the wall of the room beyond, and when I close the door behind me, the seam is barely visible.

I stand in an office. It is simple and spartan with a basic desk and chair. There is a lamp and pile of papers on the desk. The wall opposite me is an enormous window, made from large panes of glass. The glass must be thick; I cannot hear the roar of machinery, the hiss of steam, or the screams…

But I can see what is happening well enough.

Below me is a long room. On my right is an enormous machine made from polished brass, and out of a gaping mouth comes a thick chain suspended over a sectioned conveyor belt. Both run the length of the room to a huge grinder, a pair of rollers covered with dull spikes. When they reach the grinder, the conveyor belt rolls under itself and the chain curves in a sharp turn, and both return to the brass machine in an endless loop. On either side of the belt and chain, pig-men work levers that move them forward section at a time. On the conveyor belt are the carcases of pigs. Suspended from the chain by manacles at regular intervals are naked men and women.

Even from here I can see them struggling, their eyes bulging and mouths agape in silent screams as they are dropped into the grinder one by one.

I flee the office through the only other door, and realise a moment too late that it was a mistake. As soon as the door opens I am assaulted by a wave of heat and sound. The screams. The sound meat and bone being mashed into paste by the grinder.

The lantern falls from my hand and smashes.

I run.

The metal grating of the twisting, turning walkway rings and vibrates under my desperate feet, but that is drowned by the hideous noise of the killing floor. I reach yet another set of stairs, these leading down, but I do not stop until finally, _finally_, the terrible cacophony is lost amongst the sound of machines and steam, and I burst through another metal door, this one set into red brick. Stairs ascend against the wall on my left, but my relief is short-lived – when I catch the cold, smooth surface of the railing with both hands to halt my flight and finally see what is before me, I realise that the nightmare is unending.

A fat, silver, open-topped, pipe filled with thick, slow moving pink paste emerges from the red brick and splits off into four smaller pipes, and each one is labelled.

Prisoners.

Workers.

Sausages.

Machine.

Food for the prisoners. Slop for the pig-men. Meat for the sausages. Slurry for the machine. And all of it made on the killing floor, the product line, upstairs. The door behind me slams open, and I hear the terrifying scream of one of the pig-men. Pain erupts in the back of my head. I collapse and all is blackness.

I am moving when I wake, and my wrists are chaffed and sore. Above me rattles a chain, and below me runs a conveyor belt. I am naked, and before me is the grinder. The hot, slick metal of the manacles bite into my flesh as I struggle and scream, but it is in vain. With each jolt of movement, my section of the chain comes closer to the hideous machine, and I see how slowly the rollers turn.

It will not be quick.

Still I scream, still I struggle. The manacles cut into my hands and the chain rattles. Below me the pig-men squeal as they work, and above me I can see the window to the overseer's office. The desk lamp has been turned on, and I can see the silhouette of a figure standing there, watching as industry marches forward.

The grinding of the turning rollers and the shrieks of animals being slaughtered fills my ears as I jerk to a halt over the grinder. The manacles release.

I fall.


End file.
